San Blas & Cuna

My convoy sails and motors through the night and by early afternoon the next day arrive near Coco Banderos Island.  My little ducks, still in a row behind me, allow me to complete the arrival and guide them to the anchorage.  The charts of the San Blas for the areas we wish to visit have not been updated since, as written on the chart, a Spanish Expedition of the late 1700's, so use of the eyes is quite important.  You never know what might have changed in the last few hundred years.Navigating through the coral reef waters is really quite simple if you can see into the water.  That means you must plan your arrival to have the sun in the right place, overhead and slightly behind you and wear polarized sun glasses to reduce the glare.  Familiarity with what the colors mean comes quickly.  White is sand and very shallow, shades of light blue are various shallow depths, dark blue is deep water and brown is coral.  I steer us around the brown stuff and into the light blue where we drop the hook in a mere ten feet of water next to a patch of deeper blue.The tiny island has a mere four huts on it, “grass huts,” which shelter only ten inhabitants.  About a quarter of a mile in diameter, the little sandy island lump is thick with palm trees and fringed with brilliant white sand.  The water surrounding it is brilliant light blue and dark blue.  This is a place out of the primitive island brochure.As soon as the hook is down and set, I don snorkel gear and swim around the boats.  How nice to be in a tropical paradise again.  After my refreshing swim and quick rinse we go ashore in Seagull's dinghy and meet two woman fully adorned in native dress, two children and man wearing Salvation Army specials.  The women sit under a palm tree and create beautiful Molas.  A Molas is a rectangular cloth sandwich, layers of solid colored fabric.  While stacked like a sandwich, they cut down through the various layers until they reach the color they desire for the pattern then stitch it into place as such.  The Cuna women wear these Molas on the front and back of their bodies at the waist level. We trade shorts for Molas and all are happy with that.A circumnavigation of the island on foot takes about five minutes.The next day we make quick trip to East Coco Banderos to pick up a local bloke, Manuel, to take him to Tiger Island.  Manuel rides aboard Inner Light, his dugout canoe towing behind. We arrive at Tiger Island near sunset and anchor in the lee of the village.  Manuel rows his boat ashore.  Hallelujah.   The gringos enjoy banana daiquiris on Inner Light with bananas given by Mickey from his land.  Fried Bananas and chart discussions.  A crab is exchanged with local boys for a T-shirt.  The crab has a seven inch body, with seven inch claws, twenty one inches overall, not much meat, fishy taste, thrown overboard.  They must have known, the T-shirt was more valuable.03:45 4/24/92 Tiger Village, Isla Tigre, San Blas.Yachtie breakfast is on board Renaissance this morning.  I feed the group eggs benedict, made with twelve poached eggs, set onto Linda's Rosemary bread, toasted, with fried sliced ham and hollandaise sauce.After breakfast Manuel brings us ashore to meet the chief.  It would seem to be proper etiquette.  The chief was born one hundred years ago in 1892 !!  He began studying English language 25 years ago when he was 75.  He must have lost his teeth around the same time.  I do not think he had a-one.From the chief’s meeting house we roam the “streets” of hard packed sand on a Molas shopping tour. As we pass each hut the women display their wares, Molas, necklaces, patches.  Obviously we are not the first tourists to town.  They are some bargainers!  They have a very definite bottom price and know all about haggling!  Sale price would seem to be the matter, but I believe they earn respect of the other villagers when they hold out, and for their willingness to hold out.  Manuel’s family caged a poor little three month old parrot in a white bleach bottle cage for a pet.   Compassion for the poor bird and a whimsical notion of having a pet compels me to buy the little critter.  It seems fitting that a Captain in the Caribbean should have a bird for his shoulder.  Parrot personalities, as in the days of the “great” pirates, are inquisitive, intense.   They enjoy a touch and are quite attached to their “mommies.” Cuna becomes the name of the bird, named in memory of the land whence she came.  Back on Renaissance I make a space for her.  She is now part of the crew and thus entitled to her own quarters. I call her “she” because I want to.  There is no way to tell her gender until she lays an egg or does not.  I take a nap, with Cuna on my hat on my head, shitting.  I am her mother now.  She clings to me.